


Warming Up

by RowboatCop



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bath Sex, Coulson and his ridiculous crush on Skye, Coulson letting Skye in, Coulson thinking about Skye while he masturbates, F/M, Hand Jobs, Masturbation, Phil Coulson: human disaster, Post-Heavy Is the Head Porn, Skye calling Coulson 'sir' is basically foreplay, Skye getting Coulson to relax, Skye is in charge even when she's trying to make Coulson feel in control, Skye taking charge, Voyeurism, post 2x02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2408999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-2x02. Coulson (poor, pathetic, human wreck Phil Coulson) takes a bath to try to relax; he's less than successful until Skye shows up to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warming Up

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is. It's not what I meant to write at all, and I blame Tumblr. And especially becketted and lascenturykindagirl for masturbatory voyeurism and bathtubs, respectively.

The water in the tub is already starting to cool as he turns off the faucet, and Coulson sighs in irritation. The problem with enormous old bathtubs like this one, as good as they look, is that by the time they get anywhere near full, the water has already cooled off.

He sits uncomfortably in the lukewarm water, closes his eyes, tries to breathe deeply.

His pet theory, at this point, is that if he can stave off the stress, he might be able to go longer in between episodes. After two weeks, he starts to itch like mad — the niggle in his brain shows up on his skin, and it feels like his entire body is turning on him. And then afterwards, the niggle in his brain and the itch on his skin disappear, but he still feels tense. Tense in a different way. Tense in a way that’s about spending hours not being himself, in no control of what his body is doing, being some sort of conduit (he’s almost sure it’s a language, almost sure he’s getting messages from someone...some _thing_ ).

Thus, a relaxing bath.

It’s not working.

Despite the lukewarm water temperature, he feels like he can’t in good conscience get out of the tub until he’s sat here for at least fifteen minutes. It would be a terrible waste of water otherwise.

Coulson groans to himself and rests his head back on the rim of the tub, and even though he really doesn’t want them to, his thoughts turn to Skye — to the fact that she saw the writing on the 084. It feels like a rock in the bottom of his stomach, this knowledge that something big is happening, something he can’t protect her from. The thought of Skye losing herself, the thought of her itching, the thought of her etching an alien message into the wall, it makes him want to cry.

He wants so much better for her than this.

Coulson swallows back too much emotion at the thought of her. Everything about Skye is too much — just thinking about her sometimes makes the itch rise on his skin, and he’s not sure if it’s about the GH-325 or just about her. And whatever the situation is, it is _not_ helped by the fact that he swears she’s more beautiful every time he comes back. It is  _not_ helped by the fact that he can’t seem to keep her off of his mind.

If he’s honest with himself — and the truth is that he isn’t, not really, not about this — keeping away from her has as much to do with wanting to protect her from himself as it does with the GH-325. He doesn’t trust himself to be alone with her anymore, doesn’t trust himself to maintain a professional distance between them. Not that there was ever a _professional_ distance between them, but he didn’t used to be bombarded by this pressing _need_ for her. And _God_ he needs her now. It feels dangerous.

Not that any advances on his part would be unwelcome; it’s actually more dangerous because they would be welcome. He thinks. He is fairly certain. Or he _was_ fairly certain before he realized how hurt she is that he’s been keeping her out.

Today had forced him to confront how hurt she is; how deep it goes. She still seems so happy to see him, still smiles at him in her _Skye_ way that makes his heart jump, still teases him gently in a way that looks too much like flirting. And yet…

Coulson swallows back guilt, tries to focus on how this is good. Space between them is good. He can’t ruin her, can’t bring her down with him, can’t smother her with his _need_ , if there’s distance between them.

Still, though, his need for her is becoming overwhelming. It’s like now that he has denied himself even small doses of her — now that he has cut back even on calling her to check up on her research — she crowds his thoughts.

In a move that’s becoming too much of a habit — something he can do that’s just for him, something that _he_ can make his body do — he slides his hand under the water and wraps his fist around himself. He’s only half-hard, since feelings of lust are too mixed up with feelings of guilt, but it’s so easy to pull up a picture of her — of Skye looking more gorgeous every time he sees her, of Skye smiling at him like he’s the only thing that matters — and he’s fully hard.

The guilt barely even registers as he strokes himself to the image of her. He’s gotten used to this, used to the idea that if he gives himself _this_ , this much that is still a mockery of what she deserves, he can keep away. Keep her safe.

So he pumps his fist in long, slow motions to thoughts of how she looks at him, and he breathes deeply.

“Skye,” he whispers her name because he likes the feel of it in his mouth. "Skye." He likes the sound of it, especially echoing in the bathroom. “Skye.”

And also, he’s used to doing this alone, and certainly not with Skye in the same building.

“Sir?”

His eyes snap open at the sound of her voice.

“Skye.”

She’s standing inside the bathroom door, which she swings shut behind her, and her eyes are wide as she takes in the sight of him — though she can’t possibly see more than his head sticking up over the enormous tub — before she turns around.

“I’m so sorry.” She turns away from him, but doesn’t exit the room. “I wasn’t expecting you to be in here. I mean, obviously…”

The sound of her voice makes his cock throb in his hand, and he can’t seem to find the willpower to let go of it.

“It’s okay.”

“Why...why are you in here?”

“Trying to relax,” he answers.

“Hmm.”

Her hum bounces of the tile walls and sends a shiver down his spine; he pumps his fist twice and groans — quietly enough that he has a prayer she doesn’t hear it.

“I’m glad you’re trying to relax. You need it.”

“Uh huh,” he agrees. Her voice sounds so good, and he tightens his jaw against the desire to keep jacking off.

He squeezes his cock, tries to convince himself to let it go.

“You’re missing bubbles, though.”

“Bubbles?”

“Mmm hmm.” The sound of it makes him shiver, and he starts moving his hand again. He feels too far gone to stop it, especially when she makes noises like that. “Completes the experience.”

“Oh.”

There’s a long silence, and he’s entirely too aware that the rhythmic sloshing of the water basically announces what he’s doing. She _knows_ , but she’s not leaving, and he doesn’t even know what to make of it. But he’s so wound up, he needs this _so much_ , that he can’t find it in himself to care. He closes his eyes and presses the back of his head against the tub.

“Keep talking,” he pleads.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.”

“I miss you.”

He groans, thrusts up into his fist.

“I miss you, too.”

“But you’re the one keeping distance from me, AC.”

“Skye.” He shivers at the sound of his nickname, something he hasn’t heard in so many months. “Not by choice.”

“Why, then?”

“ _Skye_ , _please_.”

She laughs at that — a quiet, half-mocking noise — and when Couslon opens his eyes, he’s surprised to see her standing over him, looking into the bathtub, eyes zeroed in on his cock.

“Keep going.” It’s not phrased as a request — more like an order. And, really, he doesn’t want to stop. So he doesn’t. She slides her eyes up his body and holds eye contact as he moves his fist over himself, and he sort of wishes for those bubbles — something that would keep her from being able to see all of him. This Skye, this person standing over him, is the one he’s hurt in the past few months, and he wonders if he’ll ever again see the Skye he remembers from last year (the one that trusted him in everything).

“Skye —”

“You’re looking pretty great, sir. I thought for sure you’d lost weight.” Her hand lands on his still arm, and he sighs at the contact. It’s impossible not to tense a little as she runs her hand to his chest and lays it over his scar.

Their eyes lock as she touches him, and he’s surprised at how soft her eyes are, how accepting she is of him. It occurs to him that the Skye who trusts him and the Skye who he’s hurt aren’t really two different people at all. She isn’t lost to him. Not if he just lets her in.

“How long have you been thinking about me while you masturbate?”

His hand stills at the question, though he doesn’t release his grip.

“Always,” he answers. It’s mostly the truth, though he certainly didn’t jack off often when they were living on the bus.

“And what do I do when you think about me?”

“Just look at me.”

He watches as her eyes soften even more. Slowly, her hand slides up to his face and cups his cheek — gentle and caring. And then she leans forward and presses a soft, sweet kiss to his lips.

It’s over before he has time to respond, and his sigh of disappointment falls between their mouths as she pulls away.

“You want to let me in, don’t you?”

“Yes.” It’s almost a sob, and Skye kisses him again — this time he can focus on the feel and taste of her lips against his before she pulls back.

“Keep going,” she instructs him, lets her hand fall to his right bicep, which she squeezes as she urges him to continue — he takes the order. “What do you need right now?”

“ _You_ ,” he answers, far too honest and open.

“You _have_ me.”

It’s not exactly conscious thought that has him shooting his left arm out of the tub so he can wrap a hand around the back of her neck and haul her in. His wet hand slides up the back of her head and tangles in her hair as their lips meet in a messy kiss, almost clumsy as she fumbles for balance against the side of the tub. It still manages to be the best thing he’s ever felt, though — Skye’s tongue running against his, her breath against his face, her lips against his.

She eventually pulls back, and he can’t tell if she’s more amused or worried.

“What do you want me to do?”

His mind blanks at that question. There are _so many things_ that come to mind — _don’t leave me_ , _kiss me_ , _forgive me_ , _touch me_ , _talk to me_ , _fuck me_ , _love me_ — that he doesn’t know how to process them all.

“Do you want to look at me? You want me to take off my clothes, Coulson?”

His eyes reflexively scan down her body in the black t-shirt and pants that she’s come to favor, and his mouth falls open a little as he imagines what’s underneath. There’s another surge of blood to his groin, and the speed of his strokes picks up.

“Yes,” he finally answers.

He stays fixated on her as she slowly strips. It isn’t a show and she isn’t particularly coy about it, but it’s among the sexiest things he’s ever seen. When she gets down to a black jogging bra and bikini panties, she pauses with one index finger hooked on the side of her panties, pushed low on her hip.

It takes him a moment to understand why she’s stopped, to take in the way her other hand is positioned carefully over her belly. Through the gaps in her fingers, he can make out a glimpse of her scars — the jagged, puckered spots on her otherwise flawless body.

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice is hoarse — the tension in his body is in his throat, as well — but she smiles at the compliment.

Slowly, she pushes the panties down her thighs and then wiggles out of them as she reaches behind her back. He squeezes his hand around himself as her bra goes slack, and then she’s completely naked in front of him.

His hand stills, and he has to pull it away for a moment as he looks his fill. He could come, he thinks, just from watching her.

Slowly, her hands slide up her stomach until she’s cupping her breasts, staring into his eyes as her thumbs drag across her nipples.

“Do you want to touch me?”

“ _Yes_.”

Skye nods and steps towards him, until she’s within reach. His hands dart out of the tub and land on her thighs, slide up to her hips and then around and up to her butt. He unapologetically tugs her forward, aiming to get her into the tub, and Skye laughs as she resists his efforts by planting her hands on the side of the tub.

“Your water is _way too cold_ for me to get in there.”

She looks down to his groin, sees him still hard and wanting, and laughs again.

“It’s sort of impressive you can keep that up.”

Coulson’s eyes dip from her eyes to her lips to her breasts, which are swaying over the side of the tub as she leans forward. Skye reaches into the water, brushes past his leg, and releases the tub drain. As some of the cold water rushes out, he reaches forward and runs his hand up her arm, across her shoulder, down her back, and then up her stomach until he cups her breast in his hand.

Skye laughs again as she replaces the drain on the tub and twists the water onto its hottest setting.

“You’re very impatient.”

“Yes,” he acknowledges.

“And not very talkative.”

“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head and sits back. The freshly warm water feels amazing, and he draws in a slow breath. He hadn’t realized how tense the cold water was making him.

“That feels better, right? You just need to learn how to take a proper bath, Coulson.”

Skye pulls away from him and walks to the cupboard behind the door, from which she pulls a bottle of bubble bath.

“You’ll like it,” she promises as she twists off the cap. “It’s sandalwood. Not too feminine.”

He nods — he would take smelling like roses if it meant Skye would get in the tub with him — and watches as she pours a generous two capfuls into the tub under the running water. Then, finally, she steps in and slides into the warm water across from him. When she finally turns off the water, the tub is warm and the heady scent of the bubble bath makes his head foggy.

Skye slides forward, then, bringing them chest to chest and wrapping her legs around his back. His cock is trapped between them as he slides his hands up her back, into her hair, and pulls her forward to kiss her again.

She responds with her whole body, kissing him back but also arching towards him and letting him feel the wetness between her thighs — hotter and slicker than the water of the tub — rubbing against his cock. Her lips are intense against his, caught up in a back-and-forth that feels like a conversation — hard and then soft, controlling and then submitting, pushing and then pulling.

“Skye,” he whispers against her lips, and she pulls back enough to smile at him.

“This is more than just tonight, right AC?”

He nods, almost helpless.

“Because I _want_ this, but I can’t...I can’t do this with you and then step back. You have to let me in.”

He nods again, runs his hands from her hair down her back, around to her stomach. He explores the softness of her belly — contrasted with the roughness of her scars — before slipping his hands up to cup her breasts.

“It’s dangerous,” he tells her. His hands slide from her breasts to her face. “And it’s worse than what you’ve imagined.”

“But you’re going to tell me anyways. Later. When we’re dressed and…” She pauses and drags herself against the erection still caught between them, “...relaxed.”

“Yes.”

He sighs and gathers her back up against him. It’s almost a relief, actually, to have her force the issue. Keeping this distance between them, keeping secrets from her, it’s just one more level of stress that he doesn’t want. 

“I’ve been so worried about you,” she whispers against the side of his face, her lips brushing against his ear.

Coulson tries to shake his head, tries to dismiss the idea that she should be worried about him ( _he_ has been worried about _her_ ), but then Skye’s hands smooth down his chest until she has them both wrapped around his cock. His whole body throbs at the sensation of her fingers on him.

He groans, _whimpers_ practically, and she looks either amused or charmed. He’s entirely too gone to figure out which it is, and if he should be offended.

“Let me take care of you.” Her voice is soft in his ear, sends tingles of pleasure racing down his spine. “I’ll do anything you want me to, AC. I promise, okay? Anything you need from me.”

He can’t stop his hips from snapping upwards, thrusting into her hands. Right now, he wants to tell her that it’s the same for him, that he would do anything for her, that even when he’s done things she doesn’t understand — they’ve always been for her.

“I know,” she tells him, as though she’s heard his thoughts. He’s actually not entirely sure that he didn’t speak them aloud.

Skye starts running her hands over him, then, moving one hand from base to tip followed by the other in a ceaseless pattern lubricated by the bubble bath. He groans and crashes his head back into the side of the tub, almost too hard, as he lets himself get lost in the sensation.

“ _Skye_ ,” he whispers her name on repeat, growing louder as his orgasm creeps closer. “God, Skye.” Her lips land on his neck, leaving kisses and nips with just enough pressure to drive him over the edge. As he comes, she bites down near his shoulder, and he groans her name on a loop. It’s immense — so much more, so much bigger, so much better than the orgasms he has alone, and he feels well and truly finished, emptied, _relaxed_ as he collapses against the tub.

“Coulson,” she calls out to him, and he feels her hands on his face. The next thing he notices is the sound of fresh hot water topping off the tub, warming him and making him more relaxed.

“I think I like baths,” he mumbles, and Skye laughs as she shuts off the water and then leans into him, presses her head under his chin.

“Me, too.” She sighs, a sweet contented sound, and Coulson thinks that really, more than anything he’d like to hear her make more noises like that. He’d like to _make her_ make more noises like that.

He runs his hands down her body, feeling out for every spot that gets a good reaction.

“I want to make you come,” he whispers into her hair, and Skye stretches and smiles up at him. She turns herself, settles her back against his chest and spreads her legs open — hooks her feet on the outsides of his calves.

“Whatever you want, _sir_.”

 


End file.
